Thursday, December 8, 2011

This morning I was belting out Christmas Carols at the nursing home communion service I do once a month. As we were singing O Come All Ye Faithful, I thought to myself, "now it feels like Advent".
Most of the residents really don't sing,
but they kinda do.

I found myself wondering if I will ever be in a nursing home, and if I am, will a nice pastor come and sing Christmas Carols and offer the Lord's Supper to me? Will I care?

I find the nursing home a lonely, stark and holy place.
People at the stage of life where their lights are flickering softly, instead of being in the fire of life. The wrinkled skins, the faint smell of urine, the dried up pea soup on a shirt...
the bad teeth...
the minds that wander back and forth through the past to the present.
Will I be there someday?

Since the service is ecumenical, all sorts are rolled in, slumped in their wheel chairs. Many of them have a look of surprise when I offer them the Bread of Life, and the Cup of Promise--as if they just noticed I was there in their sphere. Some of the people open their mouths for me to place the host on their tongues (not my tradition at all, but over the years I have gotten pretty good at keeping it sanitary and not actually touching their tongues....) or they hold the host in their hands and stare at it. The tiny cups of God's promise is more popular--some sip it like a fine wine, some gulp down the sweet juice, smack their lips, and say "yummy!" I never know what to expect.

At the end, after I have given the benediction, I go to each resident, and bless them.
It's humbling and empowering.
God bless you.
God loves you.
They respond, "Thank You"
or today, "God loves you, dear."

I think receiving blessings from elders is almost sacramental. That holy.